


Awkward Dinner Parties

by Sed



Series: No One In Azeroth Likes Anyone Else [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sed/pseuds/Sed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thassarian and Koltira visit Icecrown Citadel for dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sword Cozies

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah don't take any of this seriously. These were written 1-2 years ago, when I played World of Warcraft. Some characters are written in all caps because they lacked an inside voice in the game.

Koltira slipped one bare leg into the lavender scented bathwater. He spared a final glance at the objects lined up along the edge of the tub: Scented candles, matches, nutrient-enriched body wash, and a pink loofah in the shape of a hawkstrider. The last was a traditional bath time necessity. As he settled the rest of his body into the steaming water, he reached over to pluck a match from the folded booklet. He carefully lit the candles one at a time; this was going to be the best bath ever. The next step was to drop the bath beads in the water and watch them dissol—  
  
The beads were not among the rest of his supplies.  
  
"Thassarian, come in here please!" he bellowed. There was no reply. "I know you took them! Damn it, bring back the ones you haven't destroyed!"  
  
Silence. Then came the sound of feet shuffling along the white shag carpet in the hall. "I don't have any."  
  
"That doesn't mean you didn't take them. It just means you used them all."  
  
Thassarian poked his head into the bathroom. His body still mostly obscured by the wall. "There were only three left."  
  
Koltira narrowed his eyes at the human. "That certainly makes it okay. I'm going to take something of yours, and I shall destroy it."  
  
"I can buy more bath beads."  
  
"That doesn't help me now!"  
  
"You have fifteen floral scented products in this bathroom _right now_. Do you really need another?"  
  
Koltira looked away. He pursed his lips and sank lower in the tub. The man couldn't ever just apologize—or better yet, not do it in the first place. "Just shut the door and let me enjoy my lukewarm water, please." And thus the conversation was ended.  
  
Thassarian knew better than to push the matter.  
  
  
  
\-------------  
     
  
  
"We have that thing at Arthas' tonight." Koltira didn't look at his partner. He could already imagine every muscle twitch that would meet his statement. Wide eyes. Furrowed brow. Deep breath. Lower jaw set forward. A sudden turn.  
  
Thassarian rounded on the blood elf. "Are you serious? You can't be serious. They were just bath beads, Koltira. I am not going to his house—castle. Whatever he calls it."  
  
"Citadel."  
  
"Yeah," Thassarian chuckled, "I forgot, a whole region isn't enough for him. He can't just have a few rooms and a kitchen like every other normal human. I'm not going. Don't twitch your ears like that, I know you're mad and I am willing to risk making that worse. I am absolutely putting my foot down. End of discussion."  
  
  
  
\-------------  
  
  
  
Thassarian sighed. He followed Koltira, who in turn followed a ghoul. The foul stench wafting back from the walking corpse had ruined his appetite before they even rang the doorbell. Apparently Arthas just left his minions sitting around to stink up the whole area. Koltira probably couldn't detect anything through the overpowering aura of lavender and pomegranate assaulting his every smell receptor. Thassarian did not have high hopes for the evening.  
  
The ghoul stopped at a set of arching saronite doors. The edges were dotted with spikes. That certainly made sense; enemies must be clamoring to penetrate the Lich King's inner-sanctum and gain access to his dining room.  
  
"Thank you, erm..." Koltira hesitated before the ghoul.  
  
Thassarian pinched the bridge of his nose and snarled. "It's a ghoul, it doesn't _have_ a name. And if it did once, no one cares anymore. Let's just get this over with." As he spoke something deep within the door's mechanism shifted. A hollow clang resounded through the metal, and the left side began to slide inward. The saronite screeched as it fought to pass the uneven black stones that paved the floor of the dining hall.  
  
"WELCOME," a voice boomed. "I TRUST MY DIRECTIONS WERE HELPFUL, AND YOU WERE ABLE TO FIND THE PINNACLE OF MY DOMAIN WITH FEW DIFFICULTIES." Arthas sat upon a throne of the same style and making as the massive doors. Soft white fur was draped across the seat and arms. It didn't look at all comfortable.  
  
" _Big tall building with spikes next to Dalaran_ is a little difficult to miss." Thassarian narrowed his eyes and faked his most ingratiating smile. It hurt.  
  
"THAT WAS MY INTENTION." Arthas waved a massive armored hand in a sweeping motion to indicate the table before him. "PLEASE, HAVE A SEAT. DINNER WILL BE SERVED SHORTLY."  
  
Koltira took the seat closest to to their host. Thassarian stood a moment longer before taking the seat next to Koltira. As promised, the first course was dragged in by a procession of ghouls only moments later. It appeared to be animal in origin. Appeared.  
  
"This looks... lovely..." Koltira muttered. "So, Arthas, how is... everything?"  
  
The Lich King chuckled as he tore a shank of flesh from the carcass. "THE BODIES OF MY ENEMIES LIE BROKEN BENEATH THE FEET OF MY TERRIBLE CREATIONS. I AM WELL, AND I HAVE TAKEN UP SOME HOBBIES. IT GETS VERY COLD HERE, SO I THOUGHT KNITTING WOULD BE AN APPROPRIATE USE OF MY TIME. I CAN SHOW YOU SOME OF MY WORK AFTER DINNER. I DON'T WANT TO SPOIL THE SURPRISE, BUT LET ME TANTALIZE YOU WITH THE PROSPECT OF SWORD COZIES. THE PROTOTYPE MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE BEEN KNITTED SPECIALLY FOR FROSTMOURNE." His demonic blue eyes seemed to twinkle as he tapped the tips of his fingers together in anticipation.  
  
"That sounds lovely, really."  
  
"IT'S USEFUL _AND_ FASHIONABLE."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
An uncomfortable silence followed. Thassarian made an attempt to find some part of the meat that wasn't horrifying to behold, but he had very little luck. He looked up to see Arthas staring at him. "I... had a late lunch," he lied.  
  
"THE NEXT COURSE IS KVALDIR."  
  
"Oh, one of their recipes?"  
  
"NO, IT'S AN ACTUAL KVALDIR RAIDER. I FOUND HIM WHILE I WAS VISITING MY PENGUINS. HE WASHED UP. IT'S VERY SALTY, WE SHOULD HAVE DRINKS."  
  
  
  
\--------------  
  
  
  
After a long discussion about the natural refrigerating properties of Icecrown Glacier, as well as twenty or so minutes spent picking at gelatinous seaweed and pretending to be vegan, the two were led to the study, where a blue fire roared in the hearth, providing absolutely no heat.  
  
"Have you ever considered conventional fire?" Koltira asked.  
  
"IT DOESN'T MATCH," Arthas said. He dropped himself into a metal and fur recliner. "IT ALSO HAS A TENDENCY TO MELT SOME OF MY DECOR AND MY MINIONS AREN'T SMART ENOUGH NOT TO TOUCH IT. I CAN'T TELL YOU HOW MANY TIMES WE'VE HAD TO CHASE FLAMING GHOULS OUT OF THE CITADEL." He shifted in his chair. "HOWEVER, IT DID GIVE ME A FANTASTIC IDEA FOR SMITING MY FOES."  
  
Silence.  
  
Koltira cleared his throat. "So. Shall we... do... something? Card game, perhaps?"  
  
Thassarian crossed his arms and leaned back against the surprisingly plush sofa.  
  
"THAT IS A FANTASTIC IDEA," Arthas gasped. "WE SHALL PLAY TRIVIAL PURSUIT. I HAVE THE HORDE EDITION." He jumped up from the chair with surprising dexterity and stomped over to a stone shelf. There he began picking through various scrolls, musty old tomes, artifacts of potentially horrific power, and board games. An old Clue box slipped from the pile and crashed against the stone floor. "IT'S ALRIGHT," he muttered. "THAT WAS MISSING THE WEAPONS ANYWAY. BLOODBANE WANTED TO USE THEM FOR A SHADOWBOX. I TOLD HIM NOT TO BUT HE DID ANYWAY. A SIMILAR FATE BEFELL MY MONOPOLY PIECES, BUT THEY WOUND UP IN A TINY ENGLISH GARDEN—HERE IT IS." He slid the ancient box from the pile and brought it back to the spiked saronite coffee table. "I CALL THE BLUE PIE WHEEL."  
  
  
  
\-------------  
  
  
  
"I don't think my fingers will ever unfreeze." Koltira flexed his long, pale fingers and grimaced. "Did you have fun?" One awkwardly long eyebrow twitched curiously.  
  
"No. Not even remotely."  
  
"Oh Thassarian, don't be such a curmudgeon. It didn't kill you to be social."  
  
Thassarian scoffed. "I felt a little piece of my remaining soul shrivel when he brought out the box of knit work. None of it was symmetrical. I wasn't sure if he meant for it to be that way."  
  
They walked in silence for a moment. Koltira rubbed his hands together and sighed. "Sword cozies could catch on, though."  
  
"I will personally slaughter you if I ever find you with a sword cozy."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"It would be for your own good."


	2. Passive-Aggressive Sticky Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time Thassarian and Koltira have friends over to their place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've figured out by now that none of this is in character.

Thassarian scowled as he read the yellow sticky note. It was hanging from a magnet in the shape of the Horde insignia. Koltira clearly didn’t trust the sticky strip on the back of the paper. Every inch of the note was covered in the elf’s elaborate script:  
  
 _Could you pick up the living room and do the dishes? Also, make sure the toilet is clean and do the laundry. And if you have time please vacuum. I’d appreciate if you turned over the couch cushions so the beer stain you left—_  
  
His scowl transformed to a snarling grimace.  
  
 _—doesn’t show. If the other side is just as bad you can cover it with a pillow. Not a bedroom pillow. ~~There are some throw pillows in the linen closet. At the top.~~ You know where the throw pillows are._  
  
He wasn’t sure which was worse, the original version or Koltira’s pathetic attempt to rewrite it. He didn’t even care enough to start a new note.  
  
 _Oh, and please take out the trash. I know you don’t like doing it, but I’ve done it seventeen times in a row now.  
_  
He was counting?  
  
 _I’ll be home around 6:00.    –Koltira_  
  
Because there was a chance Thassarian wouldn’t be able to figure out the author of a note with smiley-faced flowers in one corner.  
  
 _P.S. Thrall, Varian and Jaina are coming over for dinner at 8:00._  
  
Damn it.  
  
  
  
\-------------  
  
      
  
“You couldn’t even warn me?” Thassarain snarled.  
  
“I did warn you.”  
  
“A sticky note on the fridge four hours before you come home from work—how can you seriously call walking circles around that tiny fort _work_ , by the way?—is not a warning.”  
  
Koltira rolled his eyes. “I notice you had four hours and only managed to remove one couch cushion. Not flip, mind you, because that would require twice as much effort. You just pulled it off the couch and left it leaning against the coffee table. Bravo.” He leaned down to pick up the cushion with his eyes still locked on Thassarian. “I hope you aren’t too tired to entertain our guests.”  
  
“You know, I just might be.”  
  
“Too bad.”  
  
  
  
\-------------  
  
  
  
Jaina was the first to arrive. She greeted the duo (Thassarian lurked menacingly in the doorway) with a smile, and then a hug for Koltira. She offered up a bottle of wine. “From Dalaran,” she explained. “I would have picked up some cheese, but it seems to be in short supply. Actually, they were out of wine yesterday. And the day before that all the glasses were gone.”  
  
Koltira held up his hands to take Jaina’s coat. She shrugged out of it and let him spirit it away to a row of hooks along the wall. “That sounds strange,” he said. “Can I get you a drink before dinner?”  
  
“That would be lovely—” Jaina was interrupted by the doorbell. “Sounds like someone else is here.”  
  
Thassarian looked through the peephole. “Ugh. It’s Wrynn. Please don’t make me let him in.”

“ _I’m waiting out here!_ ” came a muffled, indignant voice from the other side of the door.

Thassarian fixed Koltira with his most sincere, wide-eyed stare. “I’m serious.”  
  
“Let him in, he’s probably just hungry.” Koltira disappeared around the corner as he spoke. Jaina had followed him into the kitchen.  
  
“I doubt he’s hungry as much as he’s a di—”  
  
“ _Thassarian let him in!_ ”  
  
  
  
\-------------  
  
  
  
Thrall joined them later in the evening. He apologized repeatedly, citing a city raid and the necessary removal of several dozen night elf corpses from Grommash Hold. He and Wrynn exchanged suspicious glances several times as everyone sat down for dinner. Whenever he caught them glaring, Koltira immediately changed the subject to something more pleasant. Thassarian stabbed at his steak and pretended to care. Part of him—some very dead, very tiny part deep down within the hollow space where a soul theoretically existed long ago—felt guilty about being such a petulant ass every time Koltira asked him to be social. But then the elf started talking about Arthas’ sword cozies, and suddenly Thassarian imagined himself stabbing his partner in the throat.  
  
With the Warchief and the king of Stormwind engaged in a silent battle of wills all night, and Jaina chatting away mindlessly about cheese, dinner passed with relatively few incidents. There was one small hiccup when Varian asked for the salt, and Thrall dashed some onto his own plate before offering it to the human. Wrynn took great offense to this, and immediately leapt out of his seat to demand a duel. Thrall simply cut a piece of his own steak and chewed it very, very slowly, staring at his enemy as Wrynn paced back and forth on the other side of the table.  
  
Eventually everyone calmed down again, and Koltira was able to bring out his desert pastries, which pleased everyone. Wrynn devoured his in two bites and promptly demanded another.  
  
Thassarian sneered. “Take mine, seeing you inhale yours has killed my appetite.”  
  
“I have no time to savor dainty pastries, death knight,” Varian spat. “Bite your tongue.”  
  
“I hope you choke.”  
  
Koltira gasped. “Thassarian!”  
  
“I said—”  
  
“What? What could I _possibly_ have mistaken for 'I hope you choke'?”  
  
“Oh I wasn’t going to make up something else. I really do hope he chokes. I was just reminding you that I didn’t want to let him through the door in the first place.”  
  
  
  
\-------------  
  
  
  
After dinner Jaina thoughtfully offered to conjure a miniature reenactment of a play she had seen. She, Koltira and Thrall settled onto the couch; Varian insisted on sitting in a chair on the other side of the room. Thassarian pulled a chair from the dining room table over to the couch, beside Koltira. The play was surprisingly amusing, and even Thassarian found himself chuckling at the antics of the tiny performers.  
  
“What’s going on? I didn’t hear that part. Can you make them do it again?” Varian craned his neck and leaned forward, squinting, trying to catch the performance from his corner by the kitchen. “What did she just say? Is the soldier going to die? I don’t understand why they’re fighting. Wait—wait, I’m confused. Who is he?”  
  
“Wrynn, either come over here and watch it or _shut up!_ ” Koltira snarled.  
  
Thassarian’s mouth dropped open in shock and he stared at the elf. “I can’t believe you just yelled at Varian Wrynn.”  
  
Koltira frowned and crossed his arms. He didn’t look away from the play.  
  
“Seriously,” Thassarian whispered, “I’m a little turned on right now. Let’s kick them out.”


	3. Solve Everything With Meat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thassarian has a request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is there so much modern technology in this fic?
> 
> Gnomes.
> 
> The answer is always gnomes.

Koltira pulled his keys from the lock and stepped into the living room. The lights were dimmed. He could smell… something. His first guess presented a familiar, horrifying prospect: Thassarian had attempted to cook. The odor wafting from the kitchen could not be described as anything but “burned” with a vague hint of onion meandering about the charred smoke that filled the room. Knowing Thassarian and his simple human understanding of concepts more complicated than sticking the pointy end of a sword into someone else, he had probably thrown some red and bloody slab of meat into the oven and expected it to become a masterpiece. Chances were good he had then left the room—or worse, the apartment—to go do something more interesting.  
  
“Thassarian, are you here?” Koltira asked. He set his sword against the wall beside the TV and slowly made his way over to the kitchen.  
  
A mumbled “ _Mm_ ” was his only reply. As he turned the corner into the kitchen he found Thassarian, oven mitt in his mouth, both hands thrust into the stove, gingerly pulling something out with a look of sincere concentration on his face. A fine sheen of sweat had formed on his brow. He was wiggling his nose.  
  
“Have an itch?”  
  
“ _Nth_ ,” Thassarian replied. Or tried to.  
  
“Isn’t that always the way? Just when you can’t scratch. I would get it for you but I don’t want my eyebrows singed off by the new fireplace you installed. Or is that supposed to be the stove? What temperature do you have it set on-- ‘By Fire Be Purged’? Try three-fifty next time.” He leaned against the wall and watched. “Why do you have an extra oven mitt in your mouth?”  
  
Thassarian narrowed his eyes and glared sideways at the elf. He finally managed to bring the pan forward, and reached up with one mitted hand to pull a bowl of some unidentifiable liquid from the counter, pouring it over the blackened meat. Once that was done he pushed the pan back into the oven, closed the door, and spat out the mitt in his mouth. “I wasn’t sure if I would need a third one.”  
  
“I… can’t even imagine why you thought you might, but I won’t ask.”  
  
“Best not to. It’s a long, arduous tale. I’m making pot roast.”  
  
Koltira looked down at the oven. “Aren’t you supposed to use a _pot_ for that?”  
  
Thassarian paused, stepped back to look at an open cook book on the counter, and said “I’m not sure what I'm making.”  
  
“Ah. Well, I’m just glad you’re still here.” Koltira turned to leave the kitchen, but Thassarian grabbed his arm.  
  
“What makes you think I would have left food cooking in the oven?”  
  
That seemed like a ridiculous question, but Koltira humored him. “The last six times you did it?”  
  
“One of those was the microwave, and I didn’t know metal was flammable, they didn’t include a warning in the instructions.”  
  
“They did, in fact, but I’m not going to argue. I’d like to take a bath. Unless you have anything specific planned for tonight, I’m game for a movie or a night of switching around complaining that nothing is on.”  
  
“Wait!” Thassarian rushed out of the kitchen. “Don’t you want to know why I’m cooking this?”  
  
Koltira paused. He looked at the neatly set table, complete with candles and cloth napkins. “I assume you were hoping to passive-aggressively introduce a controversial subject, proposal, idea or plan to me, and you figured your best chance was to approach the topic with meat in hand. Which seems to be your usual method in matters concerning me. I’ll listen after my bath.”  
  
He could almost hear Thassarian’s jaw drop.

 

 

\-------------   
  
 

  
He was able to enjoy a blissful fifteen minutes before shouting from the kitchen sent bubbles and bath water flying in every direction as Koltira nearly jumped out of the tub in surprise. He could hear Thassarian cursing, and the smoke alarm joining in to add its own ear-splitting harmony to his foul mantra. Koltira wrapped a towel around his waist and set off for the source of the commotion.  
  
“Son of a whore oven, piece of shit not fit for a limbless orc’s lunch, I should cast you into the _sea!_ ”  
  
“Having some trouble with the oven?”  
  
“NO,” Thassarian snarled, rounding on the elf. He softened his tone quickly. “No, I am _disappointed_ with its performance. Did I disturb you?”  
  
Koltira sighed. “Your concerned, considerate façade is less and less appealing every time you use it. Why don’t you just tell me what you want, rather than burning down the kitchen trying to ply me with food.”  
  
The two men stared at one another for a moment, and then Thassarian caved; “Fine,” he sighed, throwing the oven mitts on the counter. “I wanted to know if you might be interested... in... a _thrshmenome_.” He coughed the last bit into his hand.  
  
“What?”  
  
“A, um… you know.”  
  
Koltira shook his head. “No, I don’t know. What are you trying to say? It’s not in Common, is it? We talked about you trying to learn Thalassian, it’s just a bad idea for everyone involved.”  
  
“No! I’m not trying to learn your language again, I’ve come to terms with that. And I apologized to those people. This is… something different. I really need you to keep an open mind about this.”  
  
‘Keep an open mind’ usually meant it was a horrible or dangerous idea, and Thassarian knew before he even asked that Koltira would say no, but he was determined to ask and be turned down anyway. In fact, asking when he already knew the answer had only worked out in Thassarian’s favor once, and that was a mistake Koltira was starting to regret as he watched the human slowly work his face into a look of wolvar pup desperation.  
  
“I’m not promising anything. Ask.”  
  
“I’d like to have a threesome.”

It was some time later when Thassarian awoke, sprawled across the kitchen floor. Smoke poured from the oven and the fire alarm hung by sparking wires from its socket in the ceiling.


	4. Animal Magnetism

“For the purposes of this ridiculous discussion, let us pretend that I am even entertaining the idea of bringing someone else into our bedroom. Just who did you have in mind?” Koltira asked. Thassarian had finally coaxed him into the living room, where he sat cross-legged on one arm of the couch, staring disdainfully at his human partner.  
  
“I hadn’t really thought of anyone yet—and no, I am not just saying that to make you feel better,” he added when he saw Koltira open his mouth to object. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And I’m not suggesting we make it a permanent arrangement. Are you honestly telling me the idea doesn’t appeal to you at all? I mean… you’re…”  
  
“I’m? I’m what?”  
  
“You’re a blood elf.” Thassarian shrugged. “I’ve been to Silvermoon.”  
  
Koltira’s eyes narrowed menacingly. “Oh, I see.”  
  
“Oh don’t get all huffy about it,” Thassarian sighed. He leaned back and lifted his feet to set them on the coffee table. “So you don’t hail from a nation of prudes. Be happy! You get to have mad, kinky sex and no one calls you deviant, or abnormal, or Varian Wrynn.”  
  
“You’re very amusing.”  
  
“I am. And I’m right, too. It’s in your nature. Embrace it! Come on, let’s just put our heads together—that wasn’t a joke—and see who we can come up with. You may find yourself warming to the idea." Thassarian paused. “That last bit was a joke.”  
  


 

\-------------   
  
   
  
After some discussion they had decided to write their own separate lists, and then compare them for approval or rejection. Thassarian read his first while Koltira paced the living room.  
  
“Jaina.”  
  
Koltira scoffed. “You know I don’t do women. And she has the personality of a bolt of linen cloth.”  
  
Thassarian nodded and scratched Jaina’s name off the list. “And might I add, _ouch_. I thought you liked her?”  
  
“I do, but I can’t imagine she would be much fun in bed.”  
  
“She’s a mage.”                 
  
“So?”  
  
“Polymorph. I’m just saying. Don’t look at me like that.” He turned back to the list. “I guess I can cross Sylvanas and Vereesa off as well.”  
  
“Vereesa is married to Rhonin.”  
  
Thassarian craned his head back and smirked at the elf. “You’re very closed-minded for a blood elf.”  
  
“Stop stereotyping my people!” Koltira snapped.  
  
“Okay… Thrall?”  
  
That didn’t seem to sit well with Koltira, who made a sick face in response.  
  
“What? Because he’s green? We’re _blue_ , be a little less racist, please.”  
  
Koltira rolled his eyes. “It’s not because he’s green. It’s just that orcs are a little more earthy than I think I’m comfortable with. And I’m not blue, I didn’t die in a cave.” He stopped pacing suddenly. “Do you have some weird fetish you would like to share with me? Thrall is a shaman, is he on your list because of those spirit wolves?”  
  
“No! Although, now that you mention it…”  
  
“You’re sick. I can only imagine what oddities lurk in the hidden depths of your diseased psyche.”  
  
“Oh calm down, it was a joke. Alright, last one: Cairne.”  
  
Koltira stared at the human and slowly shook his head.  
  
Thassarian shrugged. “What?”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Having fur doesn’t make him an animal, Koltira!”  
  
“My turn,” Koltira said. He gestured for Thassarian to slide down to the other end of the couch as he dropped down onto one arm. “Varian Wrynn.”  
  
“No.”  
  
Koltira scoffed. “Why!”  
  
“Because no.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“No.”  
  
“W—”  
  
“No. Because no.”  
  
“Fine. Whatever. Lor’themar.”  
  
The room was silent. Thassarian shook his head. “Who?”  
  
“Lor—wait you don’t know who he is?”  
  
“No, is he someone important?”  
  
Koltira frowned and let out a deep breath through his nose. “Forget it.”  
  
“Wait,” Thassarian said, “is he a night elf? I might know his face. What does he look like?”  
  
“Let’s just movie on, shall we?” Koltira snapped off the last word, pausing to wait for silence. “My last one is Arthas.”  
  
Thassarian nearly choked on his own words trying to respond. “A—are you kidding?” he sputtered. “He’s… Koltira, he’s an idiot!”  
  
“And here I thought your objections might be that he’s evil, that he’s a monster, that he knits decorative weapon cozies in his free time…”  
  
“Yes, well, that aside he’s also totally out of his mind! The man made a house out of crazy metal that talks to people. Every time he’s confronted with an opportunity to rid himself of those who would thwart his evil plans, he lets them go. His right hand doesn’t know what his left is doing, and I’m pretty sure the same can be said for his brain. His best friends are a giant spider-beetle and an floating crazy cat lady.”  
  
Koltira held up a finger to pause his partner mid-tirade. “Kel’thuzad is male.”  
  
“I’m not sure that matters much at this point! Just—honestly… I’m going to have to say absolutely no to that one, okay. I’d rather Wrynn than Arthas. But still no to Wrynn.”  
  
“Well I’m out of ideas, then. Oh! What about Darion Mograine?”  
  
Thassarian sneered. “Too angsty. He probably cries after sex.”  
  
“Mm.”  
  
At that the two found themselves back where they had started. Thassarian slid forward to the edge of the couch to look down at his list, elbows on his knees, chin resting atop intertwined fingers. Koltira had let his head fall back against the cushions. He stared up at the ceiling, occasionally twitching his eyebrows as he tried to think of anyone he might have missed. “ Well…” Koltira said suddenly. “I do have one more idea. You said to keep an open mind.”  
  
“Okay?”  
  
“It’s a couple I met in Dalaran a few months ago, at Cantrips & Crows.”  
  
“I thought you had said no women?” Thassarian asked curiously.  
  
Koltira nodded. “And that’s why I think these two might be perfect


	5. Make Awkward Sexual Advances, Not War

“We couldn’t have done this in Stormwind?” Koltira asked. “There is a little pub in the park. It’s quiet, and very private.” He looked at Thassarian, who sat motionless in his own seat.  
  
“That would have gone well, with the two of you dodging city guards and enraged citizens as we tried to enjoy our lunch.”  
  
“Oh, good point.”  
  
“Although it would have been amusing.” Thassarian added. He paused and reached forward to snatch his silverware back from Koltira. “Stop inspecting the cutlery for water stains.” He leaned back again and sighed. “What’s wrong with Dalaran? This is where you met them, and it’s closer to where they live. Where—where _do_ they live, actually?”  
  
Koltira shrugged. He looked down at his own fork and squinted. “Oh… uh… I’m not sure, actually. We didn’t speak for very long. I didn’t think to ask.”  
  
From across the room, the bartender looked at the two men and raised an eyebrow. Thassarian stared the man down until he returned to his own business. “How did you contact them?”  
  
“I stopped by Tirion’s tournament to meet with them last week. Korm was surprisingly amenable to the request.”  
  
“That _is_ surprising. Maybe he just wanted you off the ship.”  
  
Koltira rolled his eyes at Thassarian’s suggestion, but after a moment to think about it he shrugged and said “Orcish hospitality.”  
  
“That’s not fair at all. Thrall is very hospitable. I’m not even on his _side_ and I always feel welcomed.”  
  
“Thrall was raised by humans," Koltira corrected. He paused. "Actually, that doesn’t explain anything.”  
  
Thassarian fixed his partner with a wry smirk. He craned his neck to look over at the open doorway again.  
  
“They should be here soon,” Koltira said in response to Thassarian’s unasked question.  
  
“I was just looking.”  
  
As if on cue, the first of their lunch guests appeared in the Legerdemain’s doorway. He was a small, lanky blood elf, with long chestnut hair and side-swept bangs. He scanned the room, waving once he caught sight of Koltira. “That’s Asric,” Koltira whispered as he stood to wave the other elf over to the table.  
  
Thassarian did a brief appraisal of the man and found himself nodding in approval. It was something about elves, he decided as he watched Koltira hug his friend. He would definitely enjoy seeing the two of them draped across the large bed back at the apartment, arms and legs intertwined as they— “Good god, what is that.”  
  
A dark blue draenei stepped into the doorway, casting a shadow over the entrance as his massive shoulders and torso blocked all light. “Thassarian!” Koltira spun around from his friendly embrace in horror. “Don’t be rude!”  
  
“It’s alright,” Asric interrupted. “I have the same thought every morning when I wake up and see his face.” He looked at the draenei and shrugged. “Well? Come inside. Stop lurking in doorways.”  
  
“Thassarian, this is Jadaar. Asric’s—”  
  
“Does anyone mind if I sit down,” Jadaar interrupted. “These cobblestone streets are much more difficult to manage with hooves. It’s actually quite a strain on my legs.”  
  
“Of course,” Koltira replied. He gestured to the table. “Have a seat. We’ve ordered water for the table, but please get whatever you like. It’s on us.” Thassarian tried to protest, but Koltira cut him off with a glare.  
  
“Thank you, that’s very kind,” Jadaar said. “We would insist on treating, but Asric’s pockets seem to be full of holes. Like his head.”  
  
Asric scoffed. “Really? You’re going to make head jokes? Look at you. You’re a walking punchline.”  
  
Thassarian leaned toward Koltira and whispered “ _I like them_.”  
  
  
  
\-------------  
  
  
  
“So tell me, Asric,” Thassarian began, “what first attracted you to Jadaar?”  
  
“Catastrophic inertia.”  
  
“That’s… okay, well…” He turned back to Koltira, hoping the blood elf would sense his distress and jump in. Fortunately the barmaid appeared at that very same moment, carrying entrées for the table. The four men received their respective dishes, and the party fell blessedly silent. Koltira was absorbed in dissecting his salad, divesting it of all possible traces of cheese. Asric had set about covering the entire visible surface of his chicken salad with pepper, while Jadaar looked on in disgust as he spooned at a bowl of soup, waiting for it to cool. Thassarian looked down at his own plate; a small, rare steak and a side of potatoes. The barmaid had brought him a mug of dwarven stout just before their entrées were served. It was close to empty. He suddenly felt very awkward for having ordered dinner when everyone else was clearly there for lunch.  
  
 _Distract and redirect!_ his mind screamed.  
  
“That’s a very large salad,” he said.  
  
“Yes,” Koltira replied, nodding. “It’s quite a lot for lunch. Maybe I should have ordered a steak instead.” He fixed his partner with a flat stare. Thassarian sighed.  
  
“You two live together?” Jadaar asked suddenly. He was still stirring his soup, pausing occasionally to blow on the surface.  
  
Koltira nodded. “For a little over a year, now.”  
  
“That sounds nice.”  
  
Both Koltira and Thassarian paused briefly to exchange glances. “It has its moments,”  
  
Koltira replied with a careful smile. He looked over at Asric. “How are things at the tourna—”  
  
Without warning, Thassarian nearly shouted, “This is ridiculous!” He motioned to the other three men. “Why are we making polite small talk? Is this going to end in the exchange of knitting patterns or something a _lot_ more fun, and a _lot_ more sweaty? Let’s just cut to the chase now, okay? Asric,” he looked at the blood elf, who had raised one eyebrow, an amused half-smile dancing across his face. Thassarian filed away the comparison to Koltira for further consideration and possible self-gratification later. “You like sex, yes? You’re a blood elf, after all.”  
  
“Damn it Thassarian!” Koltira snarled.  
  
As the table exploded around him, Jadaar looked on in what appeared to be stark terror.  
  
“I’m just asking a question. You may not be willing to acknowledge the proclivities of your people, but perhaps a _living, breathing_ blood elf will.”  
  
“Ass.”  
  
Asric cleared his throat. “To answer your question, Thassarian, yes. Although I have to agree with Koltira; you’re basing a lot of this on stereotypes that simply aren’t true.” He paused. “I mean, in _my_ case they are, but I doubt they hold true for our entire culture.”  
  
Koltira pointed at Asric, nearly bouncing in his seat. “See!”  
  
Thassarian nodded. “Valid. I will accept that. But they are more true for your people than say… mine, correct?”  
  
“I’ll admit that seems possible.”  
  
There was a brief lull, during which Jadaar apparently decided his safest option was soup. He looked down at the soup bowl and did not look up again for several minutes. Meanwhile, the conversation raged.  
  
“Did you pick them out of the rest of my suggestions because Asric is a blood elf?” Koltira demanded. He crossed his arms and stared at Thassarian. “Did you imagine it would be easier with _two_ sex-crazed elves in your grasp?”  
  
Jadaar perked up for a moment, but quickly returned to his soup.  
  
“Wait.” Asric held up a hand. “ _The rest?_ So we weren’t your first choice? That feels fantastic.”  
  
“No—yes, actually. We each came up with a list, but I didn’t like any of his, and he didn’t like any of mine, so after a while I thought of you two.”  
  
“ _We weren't even on the list?_ ”  
  
“If you two start fighting, at least rip off some clothes.”  
  
“Shut up Thassarian!” Koltira whipped his head to the side to sneer at his partner, then back to Asric. “You weren’t an afterthought, honestly. I’m sorry if this makes you feel as though you weren’t our first choice, really, you’re… that is…”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You know what, Thassarian is right. Fuck this. Do you guys want to have sex or not?”  
  
  
  
\-------------  
  
  
  
“I didn’t think he could even hear us.”  
  
“Apparently you were wrong.”  
  
The four men sat along the wall below the Violet Citadel. Jadaar’s hooves were dangling over the edge, clacking against the masonry.  
  
“He could have asked us to be quiet,” Asric muttered.  
  
Koltira laughed. “I think we were well past that point.”  
  
“We may have crossed a line when we began discussing different forms of lubrication.”  
  
“I actually think, I’m sorry to say, that the line was crossed when Jadaar belted out that he had a very large penis.” Koltira clapped the draenei on the shoulder. “That probably wasn’t the best declaration to make with the owner standing right behind you.”  
  
“I don’t have eyes in the back of my head,” Jadaar said.  
  
“Yes, but now half of Dalaran knows something you _do_ have.” The group fell silent.  
  
“Exactly…” Thassarian began, “how large is _large?_ ”


	6. Well, Well, Well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, the phone calls between Arthas and Tirion take place before this chapter. Obviously.

“Well, that was…” Koltira paused, thinking carefully.  
  
“Awkward,” Thassarian finished for him.  
  
“Perhaps we should have invested more time in getting to know Jadaar and Asric before inviting them into our bedroom.”  
  
The two men sat in the living room, each gently cradling a warm cup of tea. Koltira was tucked into the corner of the couch, while Thassarian sat cross-legged in the armchair next to him. “In your defense, most of that wouldn’t have come up in polite conversation,” Thassarian said. He lowered his tea and let his head fall back against the chair.  
  
Koltira slowly turned until he was staring at his partner. “In _my_ defense? How—how is this in any way _my_ fault? And really, polite conversation? I do believe we are banned from no less than two establishments in Dalaran because of our _polite_ conversations. The Legerdemain was bad enough, but then there was the fiasco in the pet store—which was probably an enormous hint at things to come, by the way.”  
  
Thassarian rolled his head to the side and smiled. “I’m sure you’ll survive.”  
  
“Oh, ha ha. Yes, now is the time for Scourge humor. I’m traumatized and you’re cracking jokes.”  
  
“How do you think I feel?” Thassarian demanded, sitting up. “You had to ride a—”  
  
“Don’t say it!” Koltira shrieked. He nearly spilled his tea in a desperate attempt to cover his ears.  
  
“And then, after that, with the cogs? I not only had to _watch_ all that, but I also had to stand by with a spatula in one hand and reins in another. _Reins, Koltira_.”  
  
“It wouldn’t have been so bad if they hadn’t been attached to his…” The elf trailed off with a shudder.  
  
“So don’t tell me you’re traumatized. Incidentally, I burned the spatula. There is nothing strong enough to cleanse that utensil. Only fire.”  
  
They were both silent for a moment. Each felt the need to discuss their strange, confusing ordeal, but at the same time neither man was keen to relive the details. Koltira sniffled. “They want to get together again soon.”  
  
Thassarian closed his eyes and sighed. “We brought this on ourselves. We were too eager to experiment, too excited by the idea to stop and consider the consequences.”  
  
There was no response Koltira could think of that would convey his contempt and rage at that moment, so he settled for glaring at the mug in his hands and mumbling incoherent, but very nasty comments about Thassarian under his breath. Another contemplative lull followed.  
  
“Well, life goes on. In a manner of speaking. We should probably just focus on our work and put this behind us.” Thassarian stood up as he spoke, setting the mug down on the coffee table. He threw his head to one side to crack his neck, stretched briefly, and then gestured to the answering machine on a nearby table. “Tirion has been trying to get in touch with us for two days. Might as well see what he wants.”  
  
“Two days? What if it’s important?”  
  
“He only ever calls to complain about Arthas,” Thassarian said with a wave. “I don’t know why he doesn’t just change his number.”  
  
“I think he secretly enjoys the attention.”  
  
“Probably.” The answering machine beeped twice when Thassarian pressed the play button, listing the calls they had missed, and at what times. Thassarian allowed the most recent message to play, just to prove to his partner that they had not missed anything important from the Highlord.  
  
“Message eight,” the recorded dialog began. “ _KOLTIRA, THASSARIAN, IT’S TIRION FORDRING, HIGHLORD OF THE ARGENT CRUSADE AND DEFENDER OF THE LIGHT. I’M CALLING ABOUT ARTHAS_.”  
  
“Told you,” Thassarian said.  
  
“ _I TRIED TO LET YOU KNOW ABOUT THE ASSAULT ON ICECROWN CITADEL, BUT YOU WERE UNAVAILABLE. WE COULD NOT WAIT ANY LONGER…_ ”  
  
The two men exchanged concerned glances.  
  
“ _AFTER A SERIES OF INTENSE, GRUELING BATTLES, WE WERE ABLE TO LAUNCH OUR FINAL STRIKE AGAINST THE FROZEN THRONE. I WILL NOT BORE YOU WITH THE DETAILS, AS I AM SURE YOU HAVE BEEN ENGAGED ELSEWHERE WITH MATTERS OF GREAT IMPORTANCE. FOR I KNOW NOTHING ELSE COULD KEEP YOU FROM EXACTING YOUR REVENGE UPON THE DARK LORD OF THE SCOURGE. KNOW THIS DAY THAT THE LICH KING IS NO MORE. HE HAS BEEN SLAIN, AND THE PEOPLE OF MIDDLE—ER… AZEROTH… ARE SAFE. DID I ALMOST SAY MIDDLE EARTH? I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHY. ANYWAY, YOU ARE FREE FROM THE SHACKLES OF YOUR VENGEANCE… FREE TO LEAD YOUR OWN LIVES AND DECIDE YOUR OWN FATES. I WISH YOU LUCK_.” There was a brief pause. “ _I AM SO GLAD I WILL NEVER HAVE TO TALK TO THAT ASSHOLE AGAIN. YOU HAVE NO IDEA. HE NEVER STOPPED CALLING. OH, THAT REMINDS ME, I’M HAVING A STATUE ERECTED IN THE MIDDLE OF DALARA—message received on Wednesday, Fe—_ ”  
  
Thassarian jammed his fist into the panel on the answering machine, effectively silencing it and deleting the message. He frowned and turned to Koltira, who was motionless on the couch. “But,” Thassarian said, pausing dramatically and holding up both of his forefingers. “On the plus side, we didn’t have to risk our lives. Let’s consider that a silver lining. It isn’t as though we didn’t endure a grueling ordeal ourselves, right? We’re not lying if we tell Tirion that we were trapped by unfortunate circumstances. He won’t ask for details because he could care less unless the story involves him.”  
  
Koltira started shaking his head before Thassarian even finished. “We are not lying about why we missed the fall of the Lich King!”  
  
Thassarian arched an eyebrow. “So you want to tell Tirion that you were hanging from—”  
“Stop!”  
  
“With a lollipop in—”  
  
“Enough!”  
  
“While a draenei coated you with—”  
  
“Okay, okay!”  
  
“That’s what I thought,” Thassarian said with a smug grin. “So let’s get our story straight. It has to be convincingly dramatic without being over the top.” He began pacing back and forth between the kitchen doorway and the opposite wall of the living room.  
  
Koltira eyed him suspiciously. “You seem awfully familiar with this sort of thing. Have you ever concocted a convincing cover story to throw me off?”  
  
“Of course not.” Which meant yes.  
  
“I hate you a little more each day,” Koltira muttered.  
  
“So,” Thassarian said, clapping his hands together suddenly. “We were on a mission for the Ebon Blade. Tirion will never ask Mograine—”  
  
“—Unless it involves him.” Koltira repeated.  
  
“Exactly. Simplicity is key here. We’ll say it was part of the assault on Icecrown Citadel. We were sent to assassinate one of the Lich King’s key allies. Pick someone important.”  
  
The elf jumped. “What? Me? I don’t even know who Arthas has had working for him since we left. It’s not like we network.”  
  
“You’re friends on Facebook.”  
  
“He added me! I never read his posts!”  
  
Thassarian rolled his eyes. “That reminds me. Did you get a friend invite from someone named Deathwing Worldbreaker?”  
  
“I did,” Koltira replied. “His profile picture is some human on a mechanohog in a loincloth. I’m not sure what he’s trying to do.”  
  
“Right? No concept of subtlety. Why even make a Facebook if he’s coming back? Good idea, give everyone time to prepare. It’s like he took villainy lessons from Illidan.” The two men briefly pondered their own sordid dealings with the underworld of evil, then returned to brainstorming excuses to feed the Highlord.  
  
Koltira started biting his nails as he considered all the obstacles to a clean getaway. “What if Darion is there? He’s always skulking around in that hooded cloak for some reason, tagging along behind Tirion like an angry, unliving puppy, convinced no one knows it’s him. We can’t tell Tirion we were on a mission for the Ebon Blade if the leader of the Ebon Blade is right beside him!” Why had he ever listened to Thassarian? Why was he listening to him now?  
  
“Hey,” Thassarian interrupted his partner’s paranoid ravings with a snap of his fingers.  “Simple. We use someone who can’t possibly confirm or deny our story.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Someone there’s no risk of Tirion running into after we feed him our excuse. It’s fool-proof.”  
  
Koltira frowned.  
  
“Trust me,” Thassarian said.

 

 

\-------------

 

 

Tirion wasn’t sure why Koltira and Thassarian had insisted on meeting him at Cantrips & Crows, but he humored their peculiar request anyhow. They had seated themselves in the back corner of the tavern with their backs to the wall. He wondered why they couldn’t just meet at the Legerdemain like usual. The atmosphere was so much more pleasant. And sanitary. As he considered the surroundings, the Highlord eyed his glass of “water” warily. The sooner they could get this over with, the better. “SO WHAT’S THIS ALL ABOUT, BOYS?” he began. “THE WAR MAY BE OVER, BUT WE STILL HAVE MUCH WORK AHEAD OF US IF WE ARE TO CLEANSE NORTHREND OF THE LICH KING’S TAINT.”  
  
Thassarian snickered.  
  
“Well,” Koltira began. “We got your messages about the march on Icecrown. We felt terrible that you went to so much trouble to include us, when we wouldn’t have been able to join your final assault anyway, despite our great desire to do so.”  
  
“I SEE. WELL, AS I SAID IN MY MESSAGE, I’M SURE YOU WERE ENGAGED ELSEWHERE.”  
  
“Of course, but we felt, given your dedication and the honorable leadership you’ve provided during this campaign, that you deserved an explanation. Thassarian?” He turned to his partner, and received a dangerous glare in return. Koltira shrugged slightly. It was his plan, after all. He should have to sling his own bullshit.  
  
Thassarian opened his palms apologetically. “You see…” He paused for dramatic effect. “I might as well just come right out and admit this—the truth is, we were on a mission.”  
  
Tirion looked confused. “IS THAT SO?”  
  
“Yes. And had it not required the utmost secrecy, we definitely would have let you know when you first tried to contact us.” That was simple enough. With any luck, he wouldn’t press for details.  
  
“ARE YOU FREE TO DIVULGE THE DETAILS OF THIS MISSION?”  
  
“I’m really not sure—”  
  
“I AM VERY INTERESTED IN HEARING ABOUT YOUR BRAVE DEEDS.”  
  
Thassarian looked at Koltira, but the elf’s wide-eyed stare was aimed directly at the mug clenched between his fingers. It was time to pull out the backup plan. “Well, this may… shock you, Tirion. But our orders did not come from the Ebon Blade. Nor were they handed down by the Horde or Alliance.”  
  
Tirion leaned forward expectantly. “OH?”  
  
“Our mission was for Highlord Bolvar Fordragon himself. He is alive, Tirion. Alive, but in hiding.” The shocking news didn’t exactly produce the reaction Thassarian had hoped for.  
  
Tirion nodded slowly, sitting back in his chair. He appeared lost in thought for several moments before finally responding to Thassarian’s revelation. “I HAD BEEN BRIEFED ON YOUR… MISSION,” he said. “I WASN’T SURE IF IT WAS TRUE, I HAD TO HEAR IT FOR MYSELF.”  
  
Thassarian and Koltira exchanged confused glances. But the Highlord wasn’t finished. “IN FACT, I WAS INFORMED BY THE TWO GENTLEMEN WHO ACCOMPANIED YOU.”  
  
Koltira opened and closed his mouth several times before he was able to produce a sound. “Two… men?”  
  
“YES. SURELY YOU REMEMBER THEM? THEY SPOKE SO HIGHLY OF YOUR _SKILLS_.”  
  
“I—I don’t—”  
  
“THEIR NAMES ARE JADAAR AND ASRIC.” Tirion looked over the two stunned men with a shake of his head. He stood to leave. “BY THE WAY, BOLVAR FORDRAGON IS THE NEW LICH KING.” He turned and tossed some silver onto the table between them. “YOU GUYS ARE SUCH ASSHOLES.”


End file.
